


Little Lamb

by FanFictionaries



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, 40s, F/M, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Pre-Freeze Steve, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFictionaries/pseuds/FanFictionaries
Summary: Being the newest member of the Star Spangled Singers hadn't been the easiest thing. After becoming the victim of a cruel joke by the rest of the dancers, you remember the kind offer a certain Captain America had given you earlier that day.
Relationships: Captain America/Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 116





	Little Lamb

You stared into the mirror, breathing deeply as you the applied lipstick. Careful strokes of vermillion paired well with your complexion, brightening your face. Black lined your upper lids to symmetric perfection. Your scalp ached from the numerous pins that held your curls into place. The blue velvet halter of your costume fit you like a glove. You were the picture of perfection, but only on the outside. On the inside, a shaky, apprehensive girl screamed at the top of her lungs. The atmosphere of the room around you seemed to match perfectly with your inner turmoil. Margret couldn’t find her skirt. Frances couldn’t find her shoes. Evelyn’s hair wouldn’t cooperate. Doris needed new makeup. Alice felt fat. Irene couldn’t get her steady back home to write her. Gossip, chit-chat, and laughter filled the air as the women of the Star Spangled Singers readied themselves for their first west coast performance. However, despite the buzz of chaos around you, the only distinct sound in your ears was the thumping of your own heartbeat.

Today was the big day. You’d finally gotten your big break and you weren’t going to mess this up. You hoped. Having been a dancer since birth, you were ecstatic to be the new member of the traveling USO show. It was unfortunate that the previous girl had to break her ankle in order for you to be there, but details were so trivial. No. You were just tickled pink to be there. To stand on stage in hundreds of cities, raising money for the war with your fellow dancers and Captain America.

Speaking of the star-spangled man himself; you briefly spied on the golden-haired Hercules through your mirror as he sat in the corner writing in his little book. He seemed to be the only semblance of peace and serenity in the room. The worn leather binding of his notebook looked butter-soft as it molded perfectly in one of his large hands; the other gripped a small nub of a pencil as he furiously scribbled. For such a fine specimen, he was surprisingly shy. Throughout the last week of rehearsals, he’d stuck to himself, only speaking when spoken to. Any time the more mugbug girls of the group attempted to lay it on thick for him, fluttering their eyelashes and pouting seductively, he’d merely blushed and found an excuse to extricate himself from the situation. Captain America seemed to have no time for pick me ups. You wondered if he had a girl back home. If he did, she was the luckiest gal in the world, what with a man who barely batted an eye at the daily encounter of half-naked women around him.

“Ready for the big day, honey?” Ruth asked as she stood over your shoulder, her words kind, but her tone taunting. That had seemed to be the only downside to your life-long dream. The other girls weren’t as nice as you thought they’d be. For all the kind and bright smiles, they wore on the stage, the façade of niceties quickly faded the moment they disappeared behind the curtain. Most of them were decent to each other, aside from Ruth, but none had seemed to take to you yet.

Still, you weren’t ready to accept defeat. You wanted to fit in, and you wanted them to like you. So, when you answered, it was wholly sincere, “Yea, I’m really excited. It’s gonna’ be killer diller!”

“Well, aren’t you an eager beaver,” said Ruth, rolling her eyes with a sarcastic smile.

“Oh, lay off Ruth. She’s just a lamb,” said Doris, walking past in a hurry as she clipped on an earring. “Isn’t that right Little Lamb?”

Little Lamb. A nickname they had given you your first day of rehearsals when you’d walked in wide-eyed and full of nerves. You weren’t sure if it was meant to be endearing or mocking and at this point you were afraid to ask. Smiling at Doris, who returned it tight lipped, you placed your hat just right over your curls and pinned it into place. With another deep breath, you stared confidently into the mirror, you had this.

An hour later, it was evidently clear that you had _not_ had it. While the performance overall had not been a total disaster, you were acutely aware of all your slip ups. A paddle turn, in place of a step turn. A step ball change, in place of a toe ball change. You’d been half a beat off for the last four measures and you’d missed your mark by a good six inches. Needless to say, you were a failure. Sitting heavily into the chair of your vanity, you let your head rest in your folded arms as the rest of the girls swirled around the room, removing costumes and once again talking up a storm.

“Hey.” The deep resounding tone of a male voice made you turn your head, to see Captain America himself, braced against the edge of the vanity top next to you. The mask portion of his costume had been removed, leaving his hair a bit sweaty and mussed. “Y/N, right?”

“You’d be correct. Captain America, right?” you joked, smiling up at him in tired defeat, never even bothering to lift your head up. He laughed, a deep, full sound that caused your heart to flutter.

“I don’t think I’ve introduced myself properly. Steve Rogers,” Steve held his hand out to you. You sat up, taking his hand in yours briefly as you tried to fight the heat creeping onto your face. Your throat became dry, tightening up on you as you shook his hand. You were far from a khaki wacky gal, but there was no denying the effect Steve’s bashful charm had on you.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Rogers,” you responded.

“Please, uh, call me Steve. Just Steve.”

The sentiment made you smile wide. Steve. You liked it.

At the sight of your pearly whites, Steve shifted uncomfortably. Clearing his throat, he got onto whatever he had come over to say, “I, um, well the other dames, uh dancers I mean. They all know that—I mean I’m not as bad as I was at first but—what I’m trying to say is—gosh, I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?” Steve let out a small exasperated laugh and it became very apparent why he never spoke. He was adorably rotten at it.

You laughed with him, light and airy. “You’re doing much better than you think,” you said. It was hard not to look at the man endearingly. Everything about him screamed genuine and sweet. “And don’t worry—” you consoled him “—you did swell tonight. Much better than I did. No matter what you were like when you first started out, it seems you’re quite the natural performer now.”

“You think so?” Steve asked, surprised.

You nodded enthusiastically, “Absolutely. Hey, I think everyone was going to get some food after this. Do you want to come with?”

Steve seemed caught off guard by your invitation, “Oh, well that’s very kind, but I’m gonna’ have to rain check.”

“Oh, okay.” You were a little disappointed at his answer, but you didn’t push him.

“I guess I just wanted to say that I know how hard it can be, being the odd man out I mean. So, if you need help with anything or just a friend, I’m at the end of the hall on our floor. Room 326. Just give me a call.”

“Thanks Steve, that’s so kind,” you answered, touched and surprised at his offer. You watched as he pushed off from your vanity and began to head towards the door, before spinning around to face you.

“Remember **. If you need anything, just call me, okay?** ”

“Okay.”

You didn’t expect to ever take Steve up on his offer. Especially so soon. You were a big girl. You could take care of yourself. You didn’t need Captain America fixing your problems for you. But, a few hours later when you finally managed to make it back to your hotel, feet bloody and blistered, calves aching and sore, you realized you might be in need of a friend after all.

You had gone out with the rest of the girls. At first, things had been fine as you all settled into a plethora of booths at the small late-night diner. But then, Ruth had started in on you. Really busting your chops. A few girls weakly tried to calm her down, but they didn’t seem all that committed to defending you. Snidely, she picked apart every flaw of your performance. After a bit you excused yourself to go powder your nose before you snapped your cap. Once you’d cooled down and decided to not let Ruth’s cruel words get to you, you’d walked out of the powder room with as much moxie as you could muster. However, the rest of the Star Spangle Singers were nowhere to be found. They had left you.

It would have just been a cruel joke and nothing more, had it not been for the fact that you had all shared taxis there. You were in a strange city. You had no idea where you were. You had no idea how to hail a taxi. And you most definitely had no idea how to get back to your hotel. You walked for hours, up hills and down streets until finally, you found your hotel. But by that time, the heels you had originally deemed sensible, were anything but. Limping, feet and pride incontrovertibly in pain, you made the even worse realization that you were out of bandages. Sighing deeply in defeat, you staggered down the hall to Steve’s door.

You knocked, short and firm, conflicting emotions coursing through you. On the one hand, you didn’t want him to answer – the night was embarrassing enough. On the other hand, the pool of blood in your shoes said to hell with dignity. At first you heard nothing on the other side of the door. Maybe he was asleep. It was pretty late. Just as you were about to turn around and head towards your room, the door swung open to reveal a disheveled and sleepy looking Steve Rogers.

“Y/N, hi,” Steve greeted you, a light pink blush coming across his face as he looked down at his attire. A thin white undershirt hugged his impressive torso and a pair of khaki’s hung low on his hips, undone, revealing light blue shorts underneath.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” you said, looking up at him sheepishly.

“No, no. I was just—I was up. What can I do for you (Y/N)?”

“I was, um, wondering if you happened to have any bandages,” you told him, looking pointedly down at your feet.

Steve’s eyes followed yours, growing twice their size when he took in the sight of your bloodied feet.

“Geez! Yea, come on in. I think I have something.” Steve moved aside, opening the door to his room wider, allowing you to enter.

Tentatively, you stepped inside, sitting at the small desk in the corner as Steve disappeared into the bathroom. Your feet screamed relief as you finally took the pressure off of them. When he returned, bandages in hand, Steve knelt on the floor by your feet. Placing a hand on the bottom of one of your shoes, he looked up at you, silently asking for permission to remove it. You nodded, wincing slightly at the friction of the patent leather against the freshly opened wounds. First the left and then the right was removed, hitting the hard wood with a dull thud. Cradling your feet in his hands, he inspected the battered flesh reverently.

“Um,” another deep blush spread across his face as he stared at your feet, “I can’t patch them up with—I mean you might have to—do you want me to or do you—”

He stuttered as his thumbs stroked lightly at the stockings covering your ankles.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, understanding what he was trying to say. “Yea, I can do it.”

Steve averted his eyes, looking up towards the ceiling, as you rucked up the bottom of your skirt to unclip the top of your stockings and roll the thin material down your legs. You hissed when the fabric peeled off of your raw feet. Placing the bloodied stockings on the ground, you gingerly placed your feet back in Steve’s hands. He took the action as an okay to return back to his ministrations, reaching for the wet washcloth beside him first. His hands were gentle as he dabbed away the dried blood from your skin. It was quiet in the room. Only the sounds of your breathing and occasional sharp inhale of pain could be heard. Although your skirts had been pressed back down, you couldn’t help but notice the way Steve’s eyes lingered for a second on the expanse of leg that was slightly more exposed than before.

“You’re quite good at that,” you remarked, watching as his fingers moved lightly, but with a practiced ease over the delicate flesh.

“My mother was a nurse and I’ve, uh, had a lot of practice.”

“Really?”

“Yea, I’ve had the tar beat out of me more times than I’d care to count,” said Steve, grinning slightly, as if thinking back on it fondly.

“Well, see, that I can’t imagine.” At your comment, Steve’s demeanor seemed to change.

“Why’s that? ‘Cause of the way I look?” he asked, a bitter edge to his voice as he focused entirely on applying ointment to your opened blisters.

Sure, Steve was tall, muscular, strong. You’d personally seen him lift a motorcycle over his head – however he managed to do that. But that wasn’t why you couldn’t imagine him getting beaten up.

“No. I just can’t picture anyone wanting to hurt someone so sweet,” you answered honestly. Steve’s hands stilled, the gauze slackening a bit as he paused in the middle of wrapping it around the arch of your foot. You had clearly caught him off guard with your compliment.

“I was the little guy back in Brooklyn,” began Steve, ignoring your statement. It didn’t bother you however, instead you listened whole-heartedly as he opened up to you. “People always like to pick on the little guy; makes them feel bigger, I guess. And, I was never smart enough to walk away. Bucky was always—”

“Bucky?” you asked, wanting to know every detail.

“My pal from back in Brooklyn. We practically grew up together. Bucky was always looking out for me. He used to accuse me of _liking_ to get beat up. But I just never had patience for bullies.” Steve finished his story as he finished wrapping your last foot, “There you are. All patched up.”

“Thank you, Steve. Really.”

Stretching your legs out in front of you, you carefully pointed your toes, surprised to find that, with the application of ointment and bandages, they already felt infinitely better. Steve stood, grabbing the bloodied stockings and washcloth before disappearing once again into the bathroom to discard of them. He came back just as you were attempting to stand. At first you were fine, but two steps in and the muscles of your calves twisted and clenched, and you were going down. Steve caught you easily, allowing you to brace yourself against his arms. You held onto him tightly, afraid that your legs would give out from under you at any moment.

“Whoa, are you alright?”

“Yea, yea,” you laughed shakily, “Just my calves cramping up. Don’t worry, these pegs have seen worse days.”

“Why don’t you stay for a little while longer? Just until you feel like you can walk again,” Steve suggested, concern evident across his face. You nodded, this time sitting down at the edge of the bed with a sigh. Reaching down, you took your right leg in hand and began to massage the muscle. You felt the bed dip beside you and glanced up to see Steve staring at your hands as you worked the muscle between your fingers.

“What? You want do the other Captain?” you teased him. However, your impish smile faded to a look of surprise when Steve answered.

“Sure.”

Shifting your body to face his, you placed your left leg into his lap. The sensation was painful, but oh so good as he firmly rubbed your calves. The tense, knotted muscle easily gave under his grip. You sighed, leaning on your hands and letting your head loll back.

“I think you’re sweet too,” Steve spoke up in the silence. Lifting your head, you found him staring intently at your legs.

“Really?” you asked dumbly, unable to think of a better response.

“Yea. You’re so nice to everyone, even when they’re real jerks to you. They’re just jealous of you,” said Steve resolutely, looking up at you with a genuine smile. The moment your eyes met you were unable to look away. The azure depth of them pulling you in like some magnetic force. You studied his face, the high cheekbones, strong jaw, kind eyes, plush lips. He was the kindest, handsomest man you’d ever met, and he thought you were sweet. Steve thought you were sweet. Your heart could just burst.

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice was barely above a whisper. Deep and hesitant.

“Yes?” Your voice was breathy. High and anticipatory.

“Would you be insulted if I tried to kiss you right now?”

“I’d be insulted if you didn’t Steve.”

Delicately lifting your leg and placing it back down on the bed, he shifted closer to you, leaning in towards you. His lips were soft, tentative. He approached you in a manner so gentle, it could have brought tears to your eyes. Large hands cupped your face feather light and you sighed into the kiss running your tongue along his top lip. Steve’s grip tightened at the warm, wet sensation and he opened his mouth to yours. In turn, his own tongue swept past your lips, exploring eagerly. It was when the tip swept across the ridged roof of your mouth that you moaned lowly, leaning into him and wrapping your arms around his neck. Boldly, you used his heavy body as leverage to sit up on your knees and straddle his lap. Careful not to fully seat yourself, you kissed him feverishly.

You whined lightly when Steve pulled away from you, the heavy mix of your grasping breaths filling the space between you.

“Y/N…I’ve—I’ve never—”

Oh.

“Have you never touched a woman, Steve?” you asked, brushing the strands of blond from his forehead.

Steve swallowed thickly, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your body, poised on his lap like a present all his own. He shook his head.

“Would you like to?”

You watched a fire ignited behind Steve’s eyes, his answering coming in the form of a heated kiss. His touch was still gentle, but there was a firm bite to it that had not been there before. His hands still remained on your face – one cupping the back of your head and the other on your cheek. But you could tell from the way his thumbs twitched and fingers clenched that he wanted to move them. He wanted to touch you. Reaching up, you circled his wrists and pulled them down to your waist.

“You can touch me Stevie—” the pet name slipped past your lips as his hands flexed around your curved hips “—Touch all you like. I’ll let you know if you’re doing something wrong.”

As if all he had been waiting for was your permission, Steve became a man possessed. Gripping you harshly, he pulled you down until you were fully seated on his lap, causing a small gasp to leave your throat. His lips traveled from your mouth down to your jaw and then your neck—kissing, licking, sucking. Those hands, the same hands that had delicately patched your aching feet, reached up, deftly working the buttons at the front of your dress. Once unbuttoned, he pulled back, taking a moment to stare at you. His eyes worshipped you, looking at you with such reverence and awe that for a moment you questioned if you hadn’t been replaced by some divine figure. His fingertips brushed up and down the soft silk of your brassiere. Gooseflesh appeared across your body, your nipples pebbling before his very eyes at the teasing touch. Pupils blown wide, he focused on the hardened nub in front of him, glancing up at you.

“May I?”

“Yes. Please Stevie.”

Slowly, he wrapped his lips around your left nipple, his tongue swiping across it through the thin fabric. You mewled, back arching and hips bucking. He moved to the other nipple, hand coming up to cup your forgotten breast. Your breathing picked up speed, the pleasure coursing through you. Pulling harshly at the top of the silk material, a resounding rip rang through the room. The remaining scraps of your brassiere hung from the metal wire and Steve’s hands. You should have been embarrassed. He should have been regretful. But neither of you felt any emotion aside from pure lust. At the site of your bare breasts, Steve’s eyes lit up, and he dived forward once again. While he placed lavish kisses to your breasts, his hands traveled south, rucking up your skirt to touch the naked skin of your thighs. Higher and higher they traveled until one hand was placed on the swell of your bum and the other teased your covered center.

“Stevie!” you gasped, your head bent forward and arms wrapping around his neck.

Your head was spinning at the mixture of gentle exploration and rough eagerness that came from Steve as he took from you with enthusiasm. Another rip of silk and the delicious sting of fabric tight against skin and your panties were gone, leaving yourself open and vulnerable to Steve’s touch. His fingers stilled once again, stopping just short of your heat. Catching your breath, you extricated yourself from Steve’s body and pushed on his chest. Taking the hint, he scooted back, pulling you easily with him, until his back was against the headboard.

“Prop your knees up for me Stevie,” you said, patting his legs lightly. He obeyed, bending his knees and bracing his bare feet on the mattress behind you. You leaned back against his legs, unwrapping yours from underneath you. You splayed yourself across his lap, stretching each leg out fully on either side of him. Pulling at your already high-risen skirt, you pulled it higher until it was around your waist and you were completely bare to him. Steve inhaled sharply, unable to pull his gaze away from your glistening folds. Reaching forward, you grabbed his right hand and brought it to you. Guiding him, you showed him all your favorite ways to be touched. Steve listened with rapt attention, and when you released his hand, you were far from displeased at his ministrations. His fingers stroked and circled in all the right ways.

“Like that? Is this good?” asked Steve, his brow furrowed in concentration and jaw slack.

“Yes, Stevie. Just like that. So good,” you whimpered, reaching forward to the impressively large bulge in his already unbuttoned khakis. Dipping your hand into his shorts, you pulled him from his confines. Steve stuttered and paused as you wrapped your hand around the base of his erection.

“Y/N, oh doll.”

“Don’t stop Stevie. It felt so nice. I just wanna’ make you feel good too.”

Steve began again, breathing heavy as you stroked him up and down. He slid a single finger past your entrance, aided by the sheer amount of arousal dripping from you. The both of you keened, hips rolling and lifting as you worked each other towards your release.

“Y/N, I’m—I’m gonna,” Steve moaned, his hips moving more erratically as you gripped him firmly, twisting your wrist at the head of his length with each pass.

“Me too Stevie. Me too.” And you were. You could feel the sweet release building as his hands massaged you inside and out.

Steve’s lips found yours, bridging the gap between your bodies as you desperately worked towards each other’s finish. It wasn’t until you felt the hot, sticky release of Steve splash across your hand, that you found your own release. You moaned into each other’s mouth, tongues and lips and teeth clashing together as ecstasy took hold of you both.

It was shortly after Steve grabbed a washrag to clean the both of you, that you found comfortable sleep in each other’s arms. Wrapped in his warm embrace, head on his firm chest, you awoke in the early morning. Rays of first sunlight shone through the window, casting light on Steve’s handsome face. He looked so darling when he slept, his long lashes laying delicately on his cheeks, plush pink lips parted slightly as he breathed deeply. Silently, you slipped from his grasp, noting the sweet way he reached for you in his sleep before turning over and hugging the empty space you once occupied. You tiptoed to the door, pleased to find your feet barely hurt and your legs felt more like jelly than stiff dead weight.

“Well, well, well,” a feminine voice rang out as you slid into the hallway.

“Christopher Columbus!” you exclaimed, holding your shoes tighter to your chest as you turned to find Ruth, leant against the doorway to her room. Arms crossed, she appraised your debauched appearance and then the door you had just left from.

“Not such a little lamb after all.”

Squaring your shoulders, you looked her dead in the eyes before giving her a haughty smirk, “No. Not at all.”


End file.
